Three times yearly,
When the moon reaches an agreeable position,
The members gathered
Before the great carved oak doors
That separated
The warmth of Nocturna
From its hidden courtyard.
The lanterns burned softly.
Perfume drifted beneath the ancient arches.
Someone coughed politely.
Someone else
Had already begun drinking.
Mr Hargraves turned the great bronze handles.
The ornate doors
Opened inward.
Moonlight poured across
The cobblestones within.
A garden awoke.
Silver lilies nodded to invisible breezes.
Black roses drank the pale light.
Ghost orchids shimmered
Like forgotten spirits.
Blue vines climbed stony walls,
Only blooming in the shadows.
Towering ferns whispered
Secrets to ancient bonsai
Twisted into sleeping dragons.
Henley Marcus-Walker
Adjusted his scarf,
Took a determined swig
From his silver hip flask
And declared to everyone present,
“Now… be on the watch
For Alligators,
And those damned Guenons…
What?”
Nobody questioned
Where either might be found.
Experience had taught them
It was easier
Simply to continue.
Waiting patiently
Upon the winding path
Stood the evening’s guide.
Madame Akiko Tsukishiro.
Tiny enough
That she could be mistaken
For part of the garden itself.
Her silver hair
Was gathered into
A perfect knot.
Her charcoal robes
Carried the fragrance
Of cedar,
Moss,
Jasmine,
And rain upon stone.
Beside her stood
Her assistant Masaru.
His spectacles already slipping.
Notebook already open.
Pencil already sharpened.
Expression already resigned.
He bowed politely.
She smiled.
“Good evening.
Welcome
To the Nocturna Botanic Collection.”
“What?”
Called Henley.
Madame Tsukishiro smiled once more.
“Welcome
To the Nocturna Botanic Collection.”
Masaru sighed quietly.
The tour commenced.
Oleg Bloom
Walked hand in hand
With little Latty Flouse,
Their fingers woven together
As naturally
As ivy around old brick.
They wandered
Not quite upon the path,
But never quite away from it either,
Frequently stopping
To admire fungi
Nobody else
Appeared able to see.
Silas Pembroke
Examined each specimen
As though preparing
To write a monograph upon it,
While Iris drifted ahead,
Speaking gently
To blossoms in languages
She insisted flowers preferred.
Dante Ververs
Followed with perfect dignity,
A black teacup
Balanced upon its saucer,
Sipping occasionally,
His white handlebar moustache
Giving him
The appearance
Of an unusually scholarly walrus.
Seamus Draker
Carried tiny Bella Dolce
Nestled comfortably
In one arm.
The impossibly small dog
Surveyed the garden
With complete confidence,
Apparently believing herself
Its natural sovereign.
Behind them rolled
Denham Carter-Smythe,
Propelled with remarkable ease
By the towering
Frau Knochen,
Who navigated
The winding pathways
With the precision
Of an experienced battleship.
Madame Tsukishiro
Paused beside
A silver flowering shrub.
“This is the Moon Widow.”
It flowers only beneath
A waxing moon.
Its perfume
Encourages forgotten memories.”
“What?”
Henley called.
Madame Tsukishiro nodded patiently.
“It flowers
Only beneath a waxing moon.
Its perfume
Encourages forgotten memories.”
Henley looked pleased.
“I knew a widow once.”
Nobody asked.
Further along, they discovered
The Night Bell Vine.
Thousands
Of tiny obsidian blossoms
Hung silently.
“They ring,”
Said Madame Tsukishiro,
“But only
When nobody
Is listening.”
Masaru carefully wrote,
‘Visitors attempted listening again.’
Then crossed it out.
They reached
A bed of pale blue orchids.
“The Ghost Orchid,”
She explained.
“It remembers
Every hand
That has ever touched it.”
“What?”
Henley shouted.
“It remembers
Every hand
That has ever touched it.”
Henley withdrew
His own hand
Immediately.
“I don’t trust plants
With better memories
Than mine.”
Masaru nodded.
“Entirely sensible.”
Eventually
The winding path brought them
To a softly glowing blue mushroom.
Latty stopped.
Oleg smiled.
Together,
Still holding hands,
They approached
The Dreamfire Lantern.
The mushroom answered.
Its sapphire glow
Brightened gently.
Then brilliantly.
Then impossibly.
The entire courtyard
Filled with blue radiance.
Silver leaves sparkled.
Crystal dew became tiny stars.
The flowers themselves
Seemed to breathe.
Latty laughed.
Oleg laughed.
Bella Dolce barked
Exactly once,
Apparently approving.
Even Madame Tsukishiro
Allowed herself
A broader smile.
“It likes them,”
She whispered.
“What?”
Shouted Henley.
“It likes them.”
Everyone agreed
It certainly did.
Nearby,
Dante Ververs
Lifted his teacup.
“I have long maintained,”
He announced gravely,
“That chrysanthemums
Would produce
A considerably finer tea
If persuaded by polite conversation.”
“Nonsense,”
Replied Seamus Draker.
“Everyone knows
A well-mannered fern
Improves the flavour far more efficiently.”
“You’ve tested this?”
“Naturally.”
“What were your findings?”
“The fern
Remained unconvinced.”
Dante nodded thoughtfully.
“Stubborn genus.”
“I suspect
The fern required biscuits.”
Bella Dolce
Sneezed.
Neither gentleman
Found this
To weaken
Their scientific conclusions.
At the rear
Of the procession,
Denham Carter-Smythe
Adjusted his gloves.
“Curious,”
He observed.
“These paths
Mirror remarkably
The navigation principles
Used upon certain ancient
Celestial maps.
The gardener
Has unconsciously
Created a lunar compass.”
Madame Tsukishiro
Smiled.
“No.”
Denham blinked.
“Oh?”
“I did it quite consciously.”
Masaru looked up.
“I told you.”
Denham
Made a small note.
They wandered onward
Past Dream Moss,
Which glowed softly
Whenever someone
Remembered childhood.
Past Raven’s Hemlock,
Whose black blossoms
Always faced the nearest storyteller.
Past Whisper Ferns,
Which rustled gently
Whenever lovers
Walked nearby.
Past Velvet Moonshade,
Its petals
Dark as midnight,
Its pollen
Sparkling
Like fallen constellations.
The garden seemed
Less a place
Than a conversation
Held quietly
Between moonlight and flora.
Eventually
They returned
To the great oak doors.
Madame Tsukishiro bowed.
“Our tour
Has concluded.
May the flowers
Remember you kindly.”
“What?”
Henley shouted again.
She smiled.
“May the flowers
Remember you kindly.”
Henley nodded solemnly,
Finished the last of his flask,
Then brightened.
“I’ve just remembered…
A tall handsome woman
Was giving me the eye
When I arrived.”
A dreadful silence.
“I really must go and see her.”
He strode purposefully
Back into the club.
Everyone watched him disappear.
Silas quietly removed
His spectacles.
Iris covered
Her smile.
Masaru pinched
The bridge of his nose.
Dante carefully
Raised his teacup.
Seamus began
Laughing first.
Then Oleg.
Then Latty.
Even Denham chuckled.
Finally,
Madame Tsukishiro herself
Allowed
The smallest laugh.
For everyone knew
Precisely
Who Henley meant.
Poor Daniel Hargraves
Would soon discover
That he had once again
Become the object
Of Henley’s
Entirely misplaced affections.
Some flowers,
After all,
Bloomed every season.
But some traditions
Bloomed forever.
